The World Has Its Shine
by petrelli heiress
Summary: In which a curse might be a gift. Sylar starts seeing dead people and goes to see Peter to understand what the hell is going on. Serious crack, if that is possible.


**The World Has Its Shine**

**Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Peter, Nathan, Elle, Brian Davis, Isaac Mendez, the Walkers, Dale Smithers, Chandra Suresh, Alejandro, Zane Taylor, Jackie Wilcox, Bob Bishop, Tom Miller, OCs**

**Author's Note: This started out Very Serious, then turned Slightly Cracky...and then kept doing that until the end. **

**Warnings/Spoilers: Another Hey-Magic-Exists!fic. Spoilers for volume 5 episodes up to 4x15. Slash. Meandering philosophical thoughts (you may read the beginning in Mohinder's voice, if you wish). Ghosts coming back to haunt people. Very strange curses (you'd think there'd be more burn-you-foul-fiend-burn-in-hell-for-your-dastardly-deeds, but no). Some sexual references. Slash. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Really. This is just for entertainment, and boy do I need to be entertained. **

* * *

In the beginning of each and every one of our lives, we leave a comforting darkness, to enter a sharp, blinding world where everything is so distinct, without shadow, and light is a constant companion. We kick and scream and cry because all we want is to return to that darkness, leaving this world full of colours and huge floating faces behind.

By the end of our lives, we have become used to this life. We can distinguish those colours we saw at birth, find joy in them and the simple things they encompass. Those huge, floating faces have become people we love, hate, have any semblance of feeling toward. Dying, of course, does generally involve pain, and maybe that's why we're scared of death. We face it, we face that darkness we came from, and it scares us.

We live together; in life, we always know there is someone, even if they aren't in the room with us. We get lonely, but none of us are ever truly alone. The only time we understand what being alone truly means is when we die. Despite being surrounded by loved ones on your death bed, you are alone. They grieve for you even then, although you are still clinging to the last vestiges of life remaining to you.

We die alone. We leave the world of light, for the comforting darkness we left at the beginning of our lives. We kicked and screamed and cried when we first entered the world of the living; most of us do the same leaving it.

Some of us cling to our previous lives. These are the dead, people who are unable to disconnect. Sometimes they have unfinished business, things they believed it imperative that their loved ones knew, or perhaps revenge on a past wrong doing.

This is the Hidden Place, where victims of violent deaths wait. To each, it depicts both their initial and final moments. There is a lot of blood, and some become addicted to the sight. Most crave revenge on the people who unwittingly sent them to this place. Only a few focus on their births, on the smiling faces surrounding their screaming infant self, remembering the good times. They know that to have those good times, they also had to take the bad, even their violent deaths.

When we are alive, we have so much potential. There is a whole world spread out before us, at any age. The thing people fear so much about death is that potential disappearing.

It takes a powerful person indeed, to summon the dead. There are the charlatans, of course, those who use a person's grief and gullibility during such a time to their own advantage. It is often difficult to distinguish between the real and the fake, mostly because those with the real Gift can hide themselves so very well...

"Ah, you come to Madame Catrina for a spell, no?" The old woman grinned at him, revealing a mouthful of missing teeth and pink gums. "So, what is it? A love spell, perhaps?" she said suggestively, wriggling her large eyebrows. "Madame Catrina has many such spells..."

"No," the man interrupted. "I want you to put a curse on someone."

The old woman continued to grin up at him, but now there was a shrewd look in her eye. He was one of those ones, then. "Oh, Madame Catrina cannot do such spells. That is evil magic. Madame Catrina is nothing if not a good woman."

"The man I want you to curse killed my brother and his family," the man said, a hint of anger in his voice. He was middle aged, with dark hair greying at the edges. "He has killed many others, but the police don't seem to want to do anything about it. Here," he added, shoving a box filled with manila folders at the old woman, "See for yourself."

The old woman took the box carefully, somewhat bemused. "How did sir come across Madame Catrina?" she asked, flipping casually through the folders. There were enclosed pictures, gruesome images, and not for the first time she despaired of humanity, that it could create such a person.

"I have been searching for five years," said the man, slumping down in the seat across from the old woman. "It was pure dumb luck, actually. I saw your ad in the paper last week."

She grinned at that. Her nephew had done such a good job, and she was proud of him despite the disappointing fact that he wouldn't accept his own Gift. "Ah, yes. Madame Catrina's grandson. Very talented boy."

"So, can you do it?" the man asked, impatient and unwilling to sit through long, rambling stories about the old woman's grandchildren.

The old woman closed the folder she was holding and placed it neatly back into the box with the other folders. She was silent for a moment. "What you want Madame Catrina to do," she began slowly, "involves dark magic, summoning the dead who do not like being summoned at the best of times. There is a price..."

The man sighed, rolling his eyes briefly. "Of course there is." He began to reach for his wallet.

Too fast for his eye to follow, her hand grasped his arm, long spidery fingers curling around and gripping tight. He looked up into her dark, glittering eyes and, for the first time since he had begun his search, began to regret ever wishing this. He closed his eyes, the image of his dead brother and sister-in-law jumping quickly to his mind's eye. His niece, his little Molly, had disappeared from FBI custody, and it was believed her parents' killer had found her.

He opened his eyes.

The old woman released her hold on him, nodding slowly. "Your money is worthless here," she said. "The price is far higher than you could ever imagine. Are you prepared to pay it?"

It was a courtesy, that question. She knew his answer. Even so he closed his eyes once more, taking a second to gather his wits about him. "Yes," he said finally, his gaze level with hers. "I am."

The old woman leaned back, a grin stretching her lips manically. "So mote it be."

And for the man, the world went black.

The old woman opened her eyes, her hands grasping tightly at the edges of the table in front of her. She let go, her hands shaking slightly. She looked up to find them staring at her.

"Go," she said, wearily waving her hand.

When she glanced back up, they were gone.

"Good riddance," she mumbled, and then promptly fell asleep.

***

It started simply. Sylar thought he was just imagining things. The first time, anyway, when he could have sworn the couple he saw chatting amiably in the cafe were none other than the Walkers. Then he saw Dale Smither walk into a jewellery store, her earphones plugged in. He bumped into Brian Davis on the street. He saw Zane Taylor cross the street as the lights changed.

Someone who looked exactly like Jackie Wilcox, right down to the Union Wells High School cheerleading uniform, tapped him on the shoulder and asked for the time. He stared at her, unwilling to admit what was right before his eyes, so she gave him a disgruntled look, flipped her hair and went to ask someone else. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and she was gone.

He went to his apartment immediately, locked the door and pressed his back to it.

Someone knocked at the door.

Tentatively he opened it, peering around the edge.

Elle Bishop grinned at him, a peach pie in hand. "Hi," she said enthusiastically. "I have pie!" Before she could wince and apologise for rhyming, he slammed the door in her face.

"Aw, why did you do that?" asked Bob Bishop from the living room. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, one leg crossed over the other, as calm as could be. "She's a good kid."

Sylar shouted in fury, throwing some nameless object telekinetically across the room. The vase smashed against an empty armchair. He blinked in shock and then turned around and kicked the wall, because although violence is pointless in times of stress, it sure is fun.

Except now he had a stubbed toe, and apparently Claire's ability didn't like healing such minor things as that, so he hopped around, swearing under his breath, until he could sit down in the armchair unoccupied by pieces of broken vase. He buried his head in his hands, trying to concentrate on his throbbing toe to the exclusion of all else.

"You know," said a voice from the sofa. Sylar glanced up, unsurprised to see Cassie Blake, his fourth victim, reclining there. "I never understood why you killed me. All I did was make pretty colours. Pretty useless power, if you ask me."

He concentrated on the air above her, and eventually she disappeared. He gave a sigh of relief.

"And what was the point of killing me?" said another voice, disgruntled and not a little angry. He glanced up to see Tom Miller standing behind the sofa, quivering with all the rage such a small man can. "Writing that sentence in my own blood, do you have no shame?" He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yet again, everything's about someone else, never about me."

Sylar opened his mouth, witty retort at the ready, but Tom Miller was gone.

"What the hell is going on here?" he mumbled, wondering if he was going through yet another identity crisis. At least his mother hadn't appeared yet.

"Gabriel," crooned the voice of none other than Virginia Gray.

Sylar groaned. "Go away," he mumbled into his hands.

"Oh, my Gabriel, what's wrong?" she said, her voice soft, and he felt her hands on his face, stroking over his hair. "You can tell me."

He ignored her, and eventually the hands left. When he peered through his fingers, she was gone.

He groaned and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"Hello," said Nathan Petrelli, floating gently down from the ceiling to sit on the sofa. He smirked at Sylar, who tried to ignore him. It had worked before.

Apparently it wasn't going to work this time. He closed his eyes briefly, but Nathan was still there when he opened them. "Go away," he said through gritted teeth.

"No," Nathan said, apparently taking great delight in whatever he was doing. "Apparently, you don't want me to leave."

Sylar raised his head, giving the dead man before him his most incredulous look. "What?! Of course I want you to leave! Now, go away! Leave me alone!"

"Oh, you don't want to be alone," a voice purred in his ear. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and, with a loud, rather undignified shout, he jumped away. In the process of trying to turn around to identify the owner of the voice, he almost fell over. "No one wants to be alone," Elle said, immediately taking his seat, sprawling across both arms.

"Go away," Sylar repeated, turning his back on her, and Nathan, who still hadn't vanished.

"Actually, we can't," said Nathan, suddenly standing in the kitchen. "Apparently we're supposed to...do something...but, personally, I can see myself thinking up new and inventive ways to have you kill yourself."

"Ah, but remember, Nathan," Elle said, appearing beside him. "He tried to kill himself before. I saved him, much as I hate to admit it. Something doesn't want him dead."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Nathan grumbled. "The universe has big plans for him, yadda yadda. But we can at least have fun before the time comes," he added, brightening at all the ideas crowding his transparent head.

"True," Elle mused. "Nothing was ever said about him being sane when that time comes..."

They grinned at each other.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Nathan asked.

"Probably, since we all thought up this plan in the Hidden Place together," Elle replied. She turned to Sylar, or at least to the spot where he had once been. "Ah."

"He left, didn't he?" Nathan didn't even bother glancing over.

"Yup." Elle sighed. "He's just making it harder on himself."

***

He went to Peter. There really was nowhere else to go. The last time he'd seen Claire, she had stabbed him in the eye with a ball point pen, obviously showing how very unwelcome he was. He didn't know the first place to look for Mohinder; Luke was probably still in the desert; and Angela most definitely didn't want to talk to him. In hindsight, he should probably have accumulated more friends over the years.

He expected Peter to shout at him, and possibly to pin him down and nail him to a table as he had done before. He winced at the thought, because that had fucking hurt.

Peter did none of these things. He simply stared at Sylar for a moment and then promptly slammed the door in his face, probably making plans to change his address as he did so. Sylar sighed, opened the door telekinetically and then was promptly hit in the face with a baseball bat the minute he entered.

"Go away!" Peter shouted, brandishing the baseball bat.

Sylar raised his hand, intending to flick the offending baseball bat across the room.

"Well, this I didn't expect," a voice sighed. He dropped his hand instantly, his mouth falling open as he gazed at none other than Elle Bishop sitting comfortably on a dining room chair.

"Go away!" he shouted, and Peter, very surprised at the turn of events, looked around in case someone else had entered his apartment unannounced. "I'm not talking to you," he snarled at Peter, who had now turned from surprised to confused. "I'm talking to _her_," he said, spitting the last word out like a curse. Peter looked in the direction he was pointing but saw nothing.

"And me," Nathan said, leaning against the wall beside Elle. "Don't forget me."

Sylar growled.

Peter hesitated, and then laid a hand on Sylar's arm. "Are you okay?" he asked, and it wasn't only himself who was surprised at how concerned he sounded. "We're the only ones in this apartment."

Sylar opened his mouth to deny this, pointing out the presence of not one but two other people in the apartment, and then deflated, his shoulders slumping.

"Ah, look at him," Elle said, misty eyed. "Poor sweet Gabriel's finally realised he might be going crazy."

"Might?" Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Honey, anyone who thinks they have an evolutionary imperative to cut open people's heads and screw around with their brains is already ten kinds of crazy. And stop calling him Gabriel," he admonished, as though talking to a little sister. "You're giving him ideas."

Sylar tried to laugh, but what came out sounded more like a sob. Peter, putting his confusion and hatred of the man aside for the moment, led him to the sofa. "Now, tell me what's happened."

Sylar told him, and Peter couldn't decide between being pleased or horrified. He settled for a mixture of both. Either Sylar was crazy (a definite possibility, and one Peter entertained with great delight) or something very strange was going on (also a possibility, although not nearly as attractive as the first one was). He went for the latter, despite how much the decision pained him, since at least it might have a solution. Of course there was a solution to the former, but Peter had realised awhile back that he couldn't actually kill Sylar, however much he wanted to.

"I always thought your brother was an idiot," Elle said mildly.

"So basically you're saying an idiot tricked his way past you at Primatech?" Nathan clapped slowly. "Well done, Elle."

She crossed her arms and frowned at him. "A low blow, Nathan. You will pay for that."

Nathan didn't seem very worried, although the fact that he was dead probably helped with this. "Yeah, and one day Peter and Sylar are going to be a loving couple, raising some random kid they adopted. Yeah," he scoffed. "Like either of those are going to happen."

"Just you wait, Nathan Petrelli," said Elle, a fanatical light in her eyes. "You may be surprised what the future holds!"

Nathan laughed, and then abruptly stopped. "What?! What haven't you told me?!"

"All of us know what all of us know, Nathan."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it means." Elle looked smug.

Sylar groaned and buried his head in his hands. "You have no idea how annoying they are," he mumbled.

"So Nathan's really here?" Peter tried not to look too hopeful.

"Yeah, he defended you when Elle called you an idiot."

Peter looked pleased. "He did? Really?"

"Yes." Sylar paused. "A bit surprising, really, since when he was alive he always considered you an idiot. A loveable one, it's true, but an idiot nonetheless."

"Shut up," Peter said, all the delight vanishing. "You have no right to talk about him like that."

"No," Sylar agreed. "I don't."

Peter opened his mouth, most likely to argue his point, and then closed it abruptly as Sylar's words registered. "What?"

Sylar stood up, ignoring his question. "Well, I should be going."

"But...you just got here!" Peter said, probably wanting him to stay so they could talk about Nathan some more. "Stay," he said, grabbing a hold of Sylar's arm.

They both looked at Peter's hand until Peter released his grip, avoiding the other man's gaze.

"Aww, aren't they cute?" Elle said, smiling beatifically upon them.

"Oh god," Nathan mumbled, slamming his head against the wall.

Elle pouted. "You're no fun."

Sylar glared over at them, the action dissolving Elle into a high-pitched giggling fit. Nathan smirked at him.

"Stay," Peter said again, this time with less conviction. He spared a glance toward wherever Sylar was glaring and then hesitatingly laid his hand on Sylar's shoulder. "Please."

A few minutes later, Sylar found himself, cup of coffee in hand, sitting at the dining table across from Peter. Elle was sitting in the spare seat, giving them suggestive smirks every now and then. Nathan looked uncomfortable, leaning against the wall behind her.

"Are they still here?" Peter asked.

Sylar nodded. "Yes."

"Right." Peter tapped a pointless rhythm against the table leg. Elle sniggered. "What do you think will make them leave?"

"If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be here." Sylar took a sip of his coffee, grimacing as he realised it had gone cold. It was Nathan's turn to snigger. Sylar wouldn't have been surprised if he had been the reason the coffee was cold.

"Well, what did you do before?"

He shrugged. "I just blinked, and they were gone. It's going to take much more than blinking to get rid of these two, as I have blinked numerous times since they appeared and they are still here." He glared at Elle because she was the closest. She gave him a cheeky grin and then, simply because she could, a suggestive eyebrow wriggle. She pointed over at Peter, gave another suggestive eyebrow wriggle and then puckered her lips in an obvious kissing motion.

Nathan smacked her on the head. Sylar had never liked anyone so much in his entire life, until Nathan glared at him and muttered, "Don't even think about it."

"Have you tried going to sleep?" Peter asked, drawing Sylar's attention back to him. "Maybe you're just...stressed." When Sylar raised one eyebrow sceptically, Peter just shrugged and gave him a helpless smile.

"If you can think of a better idea, go for it."

"They probably won't let me sleep anyway," Sylar said eventually.

"Don't worry, I'll keep them off you." Peter smiled at him, and Sylar was very surprised when his heart fluttered. It had definitely never done that before. His eyes flickered over to Elle, who was giving him her best innocent look. He didn't buy it for a minute. Was she somehow influencing him? He wouldn't put it past her.

"Uh, thanks," he said finally, although Peter didn't appear to notice the very long moment of silence. "But I can take care of myself."

Peter was still smiling at him. "Of course you can." He stood up and went to rinse their mugs in the sink.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sylar hissed at Elle as soon as Peter was out of earshot.

"Who, me?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Why, I'm not doing anything, sweetie. How could you ever think I was doing anything?" She brushed an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve. "I've just been sitting here, minding my own business."

"Oh yeah, sure," Nathan muttered. "If I'd known this was what we agreed upon, I wouldn't have come."

"Yes, you would," Elle replied, turning her head to stare up at him. "This is going to be so deliciously embarrassing, you would definitely have complained if you hadn't come."

And then she vanished, leaving Sylar staring at an empty seat. He immediately looked at Nathan, who was giving him a look, half way between bemusement and a smirk.

"Actually, she might be right," Nathan mused. "I would have preferred someone other than Peter, but," he shrugged, "if it's meant to be, it's meant to be." And with that he too vanished, leaving Sylar staring at a wall, hardly daring to believe his luck. He definitely didn't care about what they had said – the only thing that truly mattered was that they were gone, so he could leave here immediately.

He started for the door. His hand was on the door knob when something slammed into him from behind. He crashed into the door, his face smooshed against the wood, before whatever had careened into him moved away, only to pull him around and pin him, back now against the door. He had to admit it was more comfortable.

He looked into the face of a very flushed Peter Petrelli, the moment lasting at least five seconds, before Peter leaned forward and kissed him.

His mind shut down. He couldn't even think comforting thoughts, like _what the fuck is going on here?_ And he certainly couldn't spare the effort to push Peter away because for some reason all of his effort was expended pulling Peter in close, returning the kiss with a fervour that surprised him in its intensity and, fuck, _where had this come from?_

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," Peter mumbled into the kiss, and Sylar could obviously think again because his mind started going _what what what what_, but he ignored it because it was pretty useless, and anyway Peter shouldn't be talking. He remedied that immediately.

***

Sylar woke from the best sleep he'd had in months. He stretched, his limbs coming into contact with whoever was sleeping beside him. He opened his eyes, the smile on his lips freezing as he took in the sight of a naked Peter Petrelli sleeping peacefully.

Before he could do anything more, Peter opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Sylar replied, sounding strangled. Yesterday's events started returning in flashes and...Oh god, had he actually done all that? He hadn't realised he was that flexible, or that tireless. And, fuck, he hadn't actually _begged_, had he? He winced.

Peter's hand came up to stroke his cheek, the dazzling smile he gave Sylar making butterflies appear in his stomach and begin fluttering around like mad. He scowled. He hated butterflies. "You're beautiful," Peter mumbled.

If he'd thought the butterflies were fluttering like mad before, it was nothing to how they were after that. "Uh," Sylar said cleverly, trying to ignore those damn butterflies. He gave the room a cursory glance in case Nathan or Elle were loitering nearby but they were nowhere in sight. He sighed, relieved. At least that was taken care of.

"Uh, Peter, maybe we should," Sylar began but was interrupted by Peter who leaned forward and pressed their mouths together. He forgot what he was about to say and when Peter pulled away, Sylar closed the gap between them, resuming the kiss.

"I don't really see how this is supposed to be a curse," Nathan grumbled, trying to look in every direction except down. "It's more like a gift, if you ask me."

"Well, nobody asked you, did they," Elle said, misty eyed. She sighed happily.

"The others aren't going to be happy about this," Isaac said. Nathan looked grateful.

"I, for one, am perfectly happy with this idea," said Jackie. Alejandro, who was sitting beside her, said something in Spanish, and everyone was surprised when it was clear he agreed with Elle and Jackie. They each kissed him on one of his cheeks and he gave the others a smug look.

"And anyway, Nathan," Brian said. Everyone paid him the respect due to the First. "This is just the beginning. Wait til you see what happens next."

They gazed down, again silent. Eventually Elle turned to Chandra and said, smugly, "And you thought he'd go to Mohinder."

Chandra raised an eyebrow. "Well, you didn't know he'd come here."

"Yes, yes, we've established that this was all a big surprise," Nathan snapped. He made the mistake of looking down. "Oh god, they're getting in the shower together."

"Ooh?" Elle stopped glaring at Chandra and turned her full attention on the events unfolding below. "Really?"

Nathan buried his head in his hands. "Great, just great. I so needed to get scarred for unlife."

***

Two years passed. Angela, Claire and basically everyone stopped speaking to Peter.

It happened like this:

"I love him!" Peter said happily, before pulling Sylar into a deep, no holds barred kiss. Sylar gave in immediately, wrapping his arms around the other man, as he was wont to do whenever Peter kissed him.

Everyone was shocked into silence, but that only lasted about two minutes. And then they were all shouting at once, until Peter teleported them out of there, having taken Hiro's ability earlier that day for just such an occasion.

They were happy in their own little world. Sylar still didn't really know why Peter acted the way he did, since it contrasted sharply with the man who had nailed him to a table, and even swung a baseball bat at him. He didn't exactly accept it, and he still watched out for any reappearance from Nathan or Elle. None came, and eventually he relaxed and began to enjoy himself. Trying to keep up with an ecstatically happy Peter was hard work, and two years passed very quickly.

There was something so unutterably human about being with Peter, and he could almost forget that anything bad had ever happened to him when Peter seemed to love him so much.

That all changed one early spring morning. He woke up in bed alone, which was unusual although he didn't spare it much thought. He found Peter downstairs, hunched over the kitchen bench. That should have been his second clue, but like the first he ignored it. He wrapped his arms around Peter's waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Hey," Peter said, so quietly Sylar almost didn't hear him. He stepped back, frowning, as Peter turned to face him. "There's something wrong...something terribly wrong..."

Sylar closed the space between them. "What's wrong? Tell me, maybe I can help."

"I don't..." Peter began helplessly. "Something...I don't...what's happening...I don't...something's wrong...what...I can't..." He stopped, leaning forward to kiss him desperately, his hands coming up to grasp Sylar's shoulders and pull him in deeper.

"Peter, I love you," Sylar gasped as Peter broke the kiss.

Peter froze.

Sylar blinked. Elle stared back at him. He glanced around furtively, and found himself back at his old apartment, in the same clothes he had been wearing on that day he thought he had been going crazy.

"Now you see," Elle said, her tone mild. "All that potential for future happiness, you took from each and every one of us. Every happy thought you had, we could have had. All that potential," she snapped her fingers, the sound making Sylar jump, "gone in an instant. Now you know what it feels like."

He blinked, and she was gone.

"Well," said Nathan. "That certainly went better than expected." Sylar glared at him. "Oh, don't give me that look. You deserved it, and you know it. To think you chose Peter, of all people." He shook his head, amused, and then he too vanished.

He stared at the empty space Nathan had once been, numb inside and out.

"Aww, now I feel all guilty." Elle pouted.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Under no circumstances are we giving him a happy ending, Elle. We all agreed about that at least."

"Well, of course not! It's not as if we can change the entire universe's plan for him, anyway," she added, stung that he'd actually thought she'd meant that.

"And it's not as if he was the only one in that fantasy," Brian said, everyone turning to stare at him as he did. "Your brother was a part of it, and if he hadn't started glitching the whole fantasy could have lasted until they both died quietly in their sleep."

"Yeah, but..." Nathan hesitated. "It's not as if he's going to remember any of it, right? He'll probably think it's a dream, right?"

Brian was silent.

"So, what do you suggest we do?" Isaac asked, sceptical. Alejandro seconded him with a firm nod.

Brian hesitated. "I don't know," he said eventually. "He's going to die soon anyway..."

"I think we should totally bring them together," Jackie said enthusiastically. "For real this time."

Everyone stared at her.

Her enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Well, it's not as if it's going to last long anyway," she grumbled.

"She does have a point," Isaac admitted grudgingly. "This is not much of a curse, though."

"That's true," Brian said. "But he's going to die a horrible death anyway, so why not?"

And so Nathan was told to appear to Peter in a dream and tell him that everything he had apparently imagined had actually happened...in a way. Nathan did so, but added a lot of grumbling and muttered curses just to show he wasn't completely for this plan.

Peter woke up and immediately made his way over to Sylar's apartment, the address of which Nathan had grudgingly told him in the dream. Sylar opened the door, still feeling numb, cold and very depressed. He was bowled over by Peter, who kissed him so desperately that his knees actually weakened and he was in serious trouble of falling down. He wrapped one arm around Peter, his other hand grasping the door frame in order to keep himself upright.

"I'm not going to forgive you for killing Nathan," Peter gasped out, his fingers scrabbling at the buttons of Sylar's shirt.

"Okay," Sylar said, pulling away slightly so Peter's fingers had more room to manoeuvre.

"And I'm certainly not going to forgive you for killing all those other people," Peter said, looking very triumphant as he finally managed to pull Sylar's shirt off.

"I understand," Sylar replied, pulling Peter back into another kiss.

"Just as long as we're clear," Peter said before slamming the door behind him.

***

Sylar opened his eyes, and thought he was blind. All around him was utter darkness, but it was comforting, like a warm blanket.

"_Don't leave me," Peter said, and there were tears in his eyes._

He shook his head.

"_There has to be another way."_

"_There isn't."_

He stared into the darkness, shivering.

"_I love you."_

"_And I love you."_

He stood up and turned in a full circle, squinting into the darkness. He saw nothing.

"_I still don't forgive you."_

_Sylar smiled. "I know."_

Even though he knew it was stupid and wouldn't receive an answer, Sylar still said, "Hello?"

"Hello," said a voice behind him. He turned, coming face to face with none other than Brian Davis.

"You," Sylar said, his eyes widening.

"Me," said the man, seeming amused at something. "Isn't this nice? We've come full circle."

"Have we."

"Yes," Brian said pleasantly. "And isn't it kind of ironic that I, your first victim, am now the first person to welcome you to what is, to put it mildly, your death?"

"I don't know about ironic," Sylar said. "But you sure seem to find something amusing about it."

"Of course," Brian replied. "You take what you can get, here. And it is nice that you finally got around to reforming. We all had a bet going," he added conspiratorially before showing Sylar a daisy. "And look, I won!"

"That's...nice," Sylar said, glancing around furtively, hoping someone would come rescue him from this strange man. He suddenly had the maddening desire for this to have all been a dream, that he could wake up next to Peter and everything would be fine.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's not possible," Brian said, actually looking sad at having to say this. "You might see him later on, if you're lucky, but this is most definitely not a dream."

He fell silent.

"So, what exactly do I do now, then?" Sylar asked, since Brian was obviously not going to offer any information.

"Well," Brian said. "Ah. I don't think you have grasped the situation. This is it," he added, as Sylar gave him a blank stare. "For eternity."

"That's my punishment?" Sylar looked incredulous. "All of the evil things I've done, and my punishment is to spend eternity alone with you in this darkness?"

"Ah." Brian looked apologetic. "No, your punishment – if you choose to view it as such – is to spend eternity in this darkness, alone."

Sylar frowned. "What...?"

He blinked, and Brian was gone.

Sylar looked around himself. "Hello?"

Only silence, and the never ending darkness, answered him.

"Well, this is going to get boring fast."

***

Peter opened his eyes, and thought he had gone blind. He squinted into the darkness.

"_I forgave him, you know."_

_Claire looked at him. "Yeah, I kinda guessed that."_

He sat in the darkness, felt it wrap itself around him like a warm blanket.

"_You're not asking me what I think you're asking me...are you?"_

_Peter paused. "I am," he said._

He stood up, brushing himself off even though there was really no need.

"_You're a bastard. You know that, right?"_

"_Yeah, I do." Peter hesitated._

_Claire glared at him. "Don't you dare thank me."_

There was a rustling sound to his left and he turned towards it.

"Peter?"

Peter smiled.

* * *

**...?**

**I know, right?**

**Review please. **


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